


Dry

by ZombyEmblem



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Character exploration I guess you could call it?, Compliant to Revelation or Birthright, Emotional turmoil with lots of metaphors, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, mostly set during the game but a couple sections take place pre-canon, some vague discussion of canon-typical violence and a little drinking at the end, time period switches a lot but it always goes from present to past to present again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:46:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombyEmblem/pseuds/ZombyEmblem
Summary: Following the assassination of Queen Mikoto of Hoshido, her former retainer Kagero finds herself unable to paint as she used to.(Written for the Kagerochi Day 2020 collection! "Mask" and "Smile" are the applicable prompts.)
Relationships: Kagero/Orochi (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Kagerochi Day 2020





	Dry

“Is something wrong?”

Kagero paused in the middle of tying the cord of her stomach guard. “Not in particular.”

Her terse response was met with a skeptical murmur, and she turned her head slightly to glance at Rinkah, who stared back with her arms crossed. They had just finished a few sumo matches, which had proceeded without incident in Kagero’s eyes. Ordinarily, they might chat for a bit after finishing up, but usually Rinkah would change back into her casual clothes quickly and leave first. Instead, she stood in front of the doorway, as if blocking the exit.

Rinkah assumed this pose often. Any given day in the castle grounds, she’d be standing just like this—arms folded and feet spread apart, always with a hard stare that cowed passers-by into stepping out of her way. Her stance fooled a lot of her allies into giving her space, thinking it was a warning not to mess with her. Over time, however, Kagero had figured out it was more wary than threatening—more for scrutinizing someone or something that didn’t sit well with her.

Kagero resumed putting her armor pieces back on in silence, but her rival made no further comments. When she was finished, she turned to face Rinkah entirely. “Is something the matter on your end?”

“Oh, no, I’m perfectly fine. But I’m not convinced that you are.”

“I noticed nothing out of the ordinary during our match.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Rinkah admitted, taking a slow step in Kagero’s direction. “It wasn’t very conspicuous. I just get the feeling that something’s off.”

The ninja raised an eyebrow in lieu of an answer. Rinkah let out a quick sigh as she searched for the words she needed. “Your fighting style has changed, Kagero. Back when we started, you were much more unpredictable and creative. Today, it felt like you were only going through the motions. It was like you forgot everything except your combat training.”

Kagero blinked involuntarily, completely unaware she’d done anything differently. “Sumo is still a form of combat, isn’t it?”

“Well, _yes_ ,” Rinkah answered, with a quick eye roll, “But it isn’t supposed to be like battle. It’s a sport.”

“I see,” Kagero murmured. She felt Rinkah’s gaze drill into her eyes, trying to excavate something, and her expression hardened.

A silence grew between them, until Rinkah abruptly broke it. “I mean…” She faltered under the murky atmosphere, sighing again in frustration. “You’re not going along with this just for the sake of training, right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Because it seems like you weren’t enjoying it. And it’s not fun for me if it’s not fun for you.”

The words clicked against something in the back of Kagero’s mind. She allowed her face to relax as she laid a hand on Rinkah’s shoulder. “I still do enjoy it. I promise I would tell you if that changed.” Leaving only that comment, she walked past Rinkah toward the exit.

“Hey,” Rinkah called out as she walked away, “Give it some thought, alright?”

Kagero stopped to look back over her shoulder. “I will. Thank you for worrying about me, Rinkah.”

Her final comment was slightly forced, as was the quiet smile that accompanied it, but all the same, her rival scratched the back of her head sheepishly, muttering some denial that she was every worried to begin with. It provided Kagero with a brief glimmer of satisfaction, although not as much as she had hoped.

As she walked back to her quarters in their fort within the Deeprealms, the world seemed to drift past her like leaves down a river. Her body followed the path on autopilot. She was too preoccupied to think about her route home while Rinkah’s words permeated her mind. They floated around in her head as she entered her own room and sat down, but she hadn’t made any progress unpacking what was simmering in her heart.

Cleanly, as if snapping into place, her eyes settled on her art supplies. They stayed fixated on the pages of empty paper, the brushes, the ink, wary all the while. When she finally moved to set them up and prepare to paint, it was almost not by her own control.

She stared at the blank canvas. It stared back at her. Without looking away, she raised the brush and dipped it into the ink. She ignored its smooth black sheen, only watching as the head of the brush approached its blank white destination.

With apprehension, Kagero pressed the brush against the page, and there it stayed.

Time froze, but only for her, it seemed. The rustle of the trees outside continued, as did the occasional footsteps of a passing resident, but the brush halted in its tracks and showed no signs of moving. The longer she stared at the page, the more weariness weighed down her eyes. It felt as if cracks formed around her eyelids, the same way that dirt dries up and ruptures when baked by the sun.

After a length of time she couldn’t judge, Kagero lowered her arm and put down the brush. The page remained unblemished, save for a single dot of ink. Like any number of nights before, all she could manage was a deep sigh as she put her belongings away.

* * *

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with it, I think.”

Kagero nearly raised her head in surprise, but her sense of decorum prevailed, and she kept her head down. “You needn’t say that, milady.”

“Really, it’s a fine piece of art,” the queen continued, her voice a gentle hum that filled the room despite its volume. “Perhaps a bit frightening to behold, but very well-made. You’re quite the skilled painter.”

“I beg to differ, milady. You speak more highly of it than it merits.”

The other woman was silent for a moment. Although Kagero couldn’t see her, she heard a faint rustle of hair that told her companion turned to look back at her. A pair of subdued footsteps then broke the calm. “You may stand, Kagero. I prefer to see your face while we speak.”

The voice came from above, and Kagero obliged to look up. Queen Mikoto stood before her, her smile lit up by a sunbeam coming through the window. Kagero rose to her feet curtly, and glanced down at the paper held between her liege’s fingertips. In a room off to one side of the castle, they were alone, Mikoto’s other retainers handling separate duties while her lone ninja watched over her. Despite their isolation, however, her predicament left her feeling exposed.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Mikoto raised a hand to interrupt her. “Oh, no, you shouldn’t apologize. You’ve done so enough times. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with sharing your art.”

Kagero stopped herself from apologizing again. “It slipped out of my belongings. I hadn’t intended for you to see it.”

“I suppose I understand that. But I’m happy to have seen it regardless. I don’t believe I’ve seen any other painting so charged with emotion.” Mikoto held the paper closer to her chest. “It feels as if I’ve looked through a window into your soul.”

Kagero’s body tensed, and Mikoto noticed the change in body language before she could force herself to relax. Kagero, in turn, saw her forehead crease as she frowned. “But… I suppose that may be too much,” she continued. “Your work must carry all kinds of feelings you wouldn’t share with just anyone. You have the right to keep them private.”

She had to say something. Her mind settled on reassurance. “You did me no harm, milady. You shouldn’t feel sorry on my behalf.”

Mikoto’s eyebrows raised just a touch, as a soft smile formed on the corners of her mouth. “Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Sometimes, it seems like I should.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Kagero didn’t know what to say. Mikoto didn’t appear to know, either, and she turned away toward the window at the far end of the room. Slowly, unthinkingly, she drifted toward the window, and stood in front of it in utter silence. It was almost as if her consciousness had drifted out of her body, left floating in the air like a mist.

“Kagero,” called the queen. Her retainer snapped to attention, but Mikoto didn’t move, only continuing to stand still at the window, her face washed out by the glare of the sun. Despite her discipline, the ninja couldn’t help a twinge of confusion. Mikoto was usually not that difficult to read, but now Kagero could hardly figure out how to respond to her.

Finally, Mikoto turned to face her vassal. “Could I ask you to promise me one thing?”

Logistically, there was no need to ask. Kagero nodded.

Her hair illuminated in the sunlight, her heart shimmering through the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, Mikoto smiled back at her, and opened her mouth to speak.

* * *

Kagero closed her eyes and calmly brought the cup up to her mouth, taking the longest sip of tea she could muster. When she opened her eyes again, her old friend was unfortunately still watching her.

Reina rested her head in her palm, leaning forward over the dining hall table where they sat. A soft, forgiving smile splayed out on her face, giving her an uncharacteristically relaxed appearance. From the years they spent working together, Kagero knew better than to believe it. Her lips were innocent, but her gaze carried the same hazardous edge it often did, and that edge pressed itself against Kagero’s face like a nosy sibling trying to squeeze a secret out of her. She could’ve mistaken their meeting for an interrogation.

She also knew Reina didn’t cook, but if she did, this would be her face as she waited for her guests to say they liked the food. Luckily, her current situation was not that dangerous.

“So?”

Kagero kept her poker face. “Yes?”

Reina let a little exasperation into her expression. “How was it, practicing against those Faceless?”

She hadn’t wanted to answer this yet. Several minutes ago, they had been training against conjured enemies—imitations of the Nohrian monsters usually called Faceless, constructed out of magic. Kagero had never tried facing them before today, despite owing their existence to her dearest friend. She let Reina keep them to herself, as they were made for the sake of her own stress relief (if it could be called that).

The fighting itself was as routine as it could get, which was the problem. Facing mindless mirages, she would have no charge to protect, no secret objective to fulfill, and hardly any threat to her life. In that environment, she could fight however she wanted.

And yet, while she took down the Faceless one by one, Kagero found herself falling into a rut. Experimentation in battle wasn’t anything she made a habit of, but still she was struck by how predictable her moves had become. It was a lifeless fighting style. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake it, and the training session left her right where she started, save for some extra fatigue. Rinkah saw right through her after all.

Kagero put her cup down. “I’m sorry to say, but I don’t believe it helped.”

“Still feeling stuck, then?” Reina asked. She received a murmur of confirmation, and shifted in her seat with a sigh. “That’s a shame. I wish I knew what else to do for you. Although…”

Kagero waited for the thought to follow, but the senior knight looked down at her tea, in a moment of fog. “Although?”

“Well,” Reina began, halting once again as her finger traced the edge of her cup, “I was just thinking, perhaps it’s better that this didn’t help you very much.”

A momentary pause, and the clatter of some footsteps outside the window. “Why is that?”

Reina opened her mouth to speak, but her voice got caught in her throat for just a moment, like she was afraid she might offend her comrade. “Well, to be frank, it’s just some mindless violence. It might worry me if that was all it took.”

“I’m hardly a stranger to violence.”

“Oh, certainly, I know that. But it’s different in this case.” Reina looked directly into Kagero’s eyes, and the harsh edge pricked her face once more. “Those Faceless aren’t terrifically smart, you know. There’s no satisfaction in outmaneuvering them, just in killing them.”

Reina was right, of course. She spent more time with these mirages than anyone, and she knew what she was talking about. The violent implications of her explanation did nothing to upend that fact. It was a familiar subject between the two.

“At any rate,” Reina cut in, “you don’t really need that kind of pastime. You’ve got other creative outlets, don’t you? What about your painting?”

Kagero didn’t move. Distantly, she heard Reina ask again, but the sound seemed to glance off her ears and float away. Her hand found her cup again, although she didn’t lift it. “I haven’t. Not since…”

It occurred to her that she was wading into far more painful territory than before, and she glanced up to see Reina’s reaction. Whatever pain she feared she would see must have laid hidden, as her old friend continued to smile; only her furrowed brow reflected what she was thinking. It was a look of deep, unwavering sympathy, and it made Kagero uncomfortable, well-intentioned though it may have been.

It felt like it took ages, but Reina spoke again, more quietly. “Do you have any of your art with you, by any chance?”

Kagero nodded, and leaned down to the small sack next to her feet. She reached in and pulled out a sheet of paper, covered in a dense whorl of brushstrokes and inkblots. It took her a moment to recognize the piece—its subject, a pegasus collapsed on the ground. She handed it over, and Reina took the drawing in both hands and admired it. Kagero went back to her tea, watching as the senior knight pored over the drawing.

“I do love your art,” she commented abruptly.

The announcement buffeted Kagero like a gust of wind. “What?”

“I do! You never showed it to me very often, but I found it comforting when I did get to see it.”

“… This is what you find comforting?”

“Well, maybe not this, per se, but…” Reina trailed off, and a slight frown overtook her. It took a moment before she continued, quieter than before. “Ever since she died, I’ve been having… ugly thoughts. Urges I can’t fight off. You’ve seen them, you know what they are.”

In her mind, Kagero saw a naginata hoisted towards the sky, dripping red. She nodded.

“For a while, I thought I was crumbling away. Breaking down like an old machine, I suppose. But when I looked at your paintings, the few times you showed them to me, it was like looking in a mirror. To know that someone I so greatly respected could go through the same pain, without losing herself…” The older woman’s smile returned, soft and wistful. “It put my heart at ease.”

Kagero turned the words over in her head. As heartfelt and revealing as Reina’s admission was, her heart answered it not with gratitude, but with anxiety. She had a number of things to say, but any of them would deflect the praise or deny the two women’s similarities—it would be too unfair, and so she was silent. Mercifully, in the silence that followed, Reina cleared her throat and posed a separate question.

“Enough about me, though,” she said. “Isn’t there someone else you should talk to?”

* * *

Kagero said nothing.

There was enough noise without her, she would have said, but she regretted the thought as soon as it came to her. They were alone in the room, one deep enough within the castle that few could pass by and overhear, but her dearest friend’s voice rang loudly and traveled far. There was no quieting her, not now—even as she buried her face in Kagero’s neck.

Orochi had collapsed as soon as they were alone. She wouldn’t have even been able to kneel if someone weren’t holding onto her. She had been fighting just to stay standing, and once the adrenaline rush of combat faded away, nothing could prop her up.

Kagero understood. Half an hour ago, when she saw Mikoto’s body being carried away, she thought her own body might give out.

Even now, she wondered. Orochi wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders and back, squeezing tighter than she seemed capable of. Every sob the diviner let loose was a deep, soul-shaking wail, reverberating across her body like an echo in a cave. The depth of her grief was unfathomable, and it crashed against Kagero unrelentingly.

She returned Orochi’s embrace, and Orochi leaned further against her instantly, nearly knocking her over. No, her body had given out, Kagero thought. Something else deep inside was keeping her upright. She hugged her companion close, enduring the impact of each sorrowful moan, and searched her brain for some other way to make things better. She found nothing.

Ninjas did not train to comfort the bereaved. They trained to fight and kill—and in her case, to protect. Today, she was unable to do either.

As soon as that thought emerged, she was unable to turn away from it. It wrapped itself around every surface of her consciousness, just as her royal duties always had. She had lived by her responsibilities. She had devoted everything to her tasks. To fulfill every expectation, to stave off the very idea of failure, she had followed every rule she set for herself.

But it amounted to nothing now—not if she couldn’t protect her liege. A ninja must not show emotion, she had always said; if anyone must be strong, it was them. What would that mean for her?

Cracks began to form. Her face felt fragile, frail and breakable like pottery, and every second she spent processing her failure chipped away at it. The pressure in her skull and the force of Orochi’s mourning voice collided, threatening to tear her stoic expression apart—threatening to expose something else underneath, something undisciplined and vulnerable. Exactly what, she did not know, and not knowing terrified her.

Just when she thought her cranium might burst open, a hand gripped the back of her head. It dragged Kagero back out from the darkness, and she jolted slightly as Orochi’s hand pulled down on her. No doubt the diviner wanted to pull her even tighter into their hug, but her arm was too weak—only strong enough to lean her weight on her friend, a desperate search for something stable.

Kagero felt Orochi’s fingers snake into her hair, gentle and careful in spite of everything. Without thinking, Kagero straightened her back, and her arms tightened around Orochi, as if swaddling a baby. Orochi’s cries began to dissipate into sniffles, but still she clutched her dear friend like there was nothing else.

Kagero said nothing. She saw nothing else she could do.

* * *

“Well, say _something_.”

Kagero only shook her head as she kept walking. “I’ll say this: that joke was terrible.”

She was answered with a scandalized gasp, and though she didn’t turn to look, she could perfectly picture the mock disgust on Orochi’s face. “How could you say that?” the diviner whinged. “I even revised that one a few times to make sure you’d like it! You wound me.”

“I think you’ve endured worse.”

“Never! It’s a most grievous injury! Oh, I may never recover.”

“How terrible. Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?”

Kagero meant to let her remark fly with a straight face, but she couldn’t help turning to glance at her companion. Aided by the soft light from the hallway lanterns, Orochi’s face glowed from embarrassment as much as from her own beauty, which she failed to disguise as she looked away and scoffed. “Awfully confident in our medical abilities, aren’t we? Remember which of us is the healer here, missy.”

“My apologies for forgetting,” Kagero answered, enjoying the satisfaction of her partner’s reaction in the moment that it lasted. When she turned to look ahead of her again, she saw the door to her own room just a few steps away. She stopped in front of the door, hesitating to open it.

A finger jabbed her in the side. “No dilly-dallying. It’s rude to keep a guest waiting.”

It was also rude to be such a pushy guest, but Kagero let it slide and opened the door obediently. Orochi sauntered into her room without waiting, and by the time Kagero shut the door behind and followed her in, she had already taken a seat and begun touching Kagero’s art supplies. “You could stand to show a modicum of patience, you know.”

“Patience?” Orochi snorted as she glanced back over her shoulder. “If I don’t hurry along, you’ll drag your feet so hard that we won’t get anywhere at all.”

“Is this…” Kagero second-guessed the question that popped into her mouth, but Orochi stopped to stare at her expectantly, and she was forced to finish her thought. “Do we need to do this?”

“We don’t _have_ to do anything, but why not?” Orochi continued pulling out brushes and papers, but momentarily used her other hand to pat the floor invitingly. “Come now. It’s been ages since we painted together.”

Ages indeed, Kagero thought, and a tiny wave of cold passed over her belly. She stayed standing until Orochi slapped the floor again impatiently, and she acquiesced to take a seat. Her hesitation might have been lost on her companion, or perhaps just ignored, as Orochi set up the paper and inkwell with her usual enthusiasm.

Kagero’s gaze came to rest on the blank sheet of paper, which almost stared back at her like it knew it could defeat her. She focused on it so intently that she failed to notice Orochi’s hand lifting her own, until the diviner slipped a brush between her fingers.

She turned to protest, and found that Orochi had already scooted up by her side. “If you’d like me to go first, you can say so instead of dropping hints.”

“If all I did was ask, you’d say no,” Orochi replied. Just a sliver of heat from her breath grazed Kagero’s shoulder.

“Perhaps,” Kagero said, her throat dry. “I assumed we would both be painting at once.”

“Thus why we’re both holding the brush.” The light reflected off of Orochi’s eyes shifted and danced as she studied Kagero’s face. “You said you haven’t done this in months. If you don’t take the brush in hand, you’ll never get back into the swing of it.”

“I understand that, but…”

A roadblock prevented her from speaking further—from admitting her inability to move forward. Before Kagero could force her way through it, Orochi’s slender fingers wrapped around her hand. “Why don’t I start for you?”

Kagero nodded. Firmly, the hand surrounding her own began to drag the brush across its canvas, painting lines that curved and wound their way across the empty space. Her mind puzzled over what they might become—curls of wind, the current of a river, perhaps snakes if Orochi was feeling more literal-minded. It was a distraction from the reality that she couldn’t bring herself to help move the brush.

She felt a small chip fall off. Just one small moment of guilt, but from the empty space, more cracks formed, and more pieces fell away. The longer she went without moving the brush, the more control she lost. Her arm began to tremble, and the brush slowed to a stop.

All at once, Kagero noticed Orochi’s weight leaning against her shoulder, along with her face hiding just past the corner of her eye. Slowly, she angled her head to see her friend’s face. A fragment of her grin remained in place, but once they locked eyes, Kagero saw Orochi’s smile slip away completely.

A pit opened up in her stomach, answering the outcome she’d feared from the moment they began walking here. Any moment, she was sure her face would pop off and clatter to the floor.

But before it could, Orochi mustered a new smile, one weighed down by fatigue. Without saying anything, she leaned in and laid her head on Kagero’s shoulder.

As time crawled on, slowly and surely, Kagero felt her tremors subside, listening only to the rhythm of Orochi’s breath on her neck. Orochi’s hand relinquished hers and drifted to the floor, leaving Kagero holding the brush by herself; her other hand alighted on Kagero’s back, drawing its own gentle circles along her shoulder blades. She allowed her arm to lower, and focused only on the touch of her most beloved companion.

It was strange, how she felt ill at ease even while Orochi stabilized her. It wasn’t as if those chips and cracks were mended all at once—every fracture, she still felt acutely. Her face held together, but only barely. In fact, were it not for Orochi’s presence, it seemed entirely possible she might collapse to the floor in pieces. But Orochi’s head seemed to carry the weight of her own, almost cradling it, and in that embrace she was safe from any further injury.

“You should have told me the past was haunting you so,” came the muffled voice pressed against her neck.

Kagero swallowed. “You knew what it was, then?”

“Reina told me what you said to her. When you said you hadn’t painted in so long, I figured it out immediately."

Of course Reina told Orochi. Someone had to, and she herself didn’t. A pang of guilt bumped on her heart, and she waited for it to fade instead of saying anything in her own defense. Orochi took stock of the silence and moved on. “You’ll be alright,” she said. “We’ll be alright. I know because I’ll make sure of it.”

Kagero protested, “You don’t have to…”

“I do, actually,” her partner interjected, and she scooted closer to accentuate her point.

A rare stutter was the best Kagero could muster. “It isn’t your job to shoulder my problems.”

“Oh, really?” Orochi picked up her head and looked Kagero dead in the eye, a disapproving slant in her eyebrows. “So I guess you think it’s your job to shoulder mine?”

She did. That was how she had always seen it. She had never questioned it, and yet in this moment, she couldn’t make herself say yes. Orochi’s eyes softened, and her free hand rose up to cup Kagero’s cheek.

“It’s an act of love,” she said. “Plain and simple. And it goes both ways, no matter what.”

Their eyes stayed locked together, steady as dancers in a waltz. Orochi’s gaze never wavered, drawn taut in an unspoken statement of trust, and Kagero decided she would not betray it. She returned the stare, quiet, without emoting, but her lips felt smoother as moments passed. Orochi’s grin widened.

What interrupted their trance was the rise of the brush in Kagero’s hand. Orohi heard the movement, and her eyes slipped away to watch as Kagero picked up her favorite utensil. She dipped it back in the ink to refresh it, and when she brought it back up to the page, her hand wavered ever so slightly.

“Do you need me to help?” Orochi asked.

“Only if I stop,” Kagero answered.

She said nothing more. Carefully, with all the focus her training had taught her, she pressed the brush against the page and left a stroke of the ink that was all her own.

* * *

“Hey, what are you drawing?”

Kagero looked up from her paper to see the beaming face of her new friend, crowned by the glare of sunlight high above their heads. Her hair was done up something like the fancy buns that the court women would wear, but off-kilter, as if she’d messed with it after her mother finished setting it. Not the look of a girl who should be tearing through the hills of the countryside, but evidently she didn’t care about that so much as she cared about this new fixation.

“Good day to you, as well,” Kagero answered in her best formal voice.

Orochi giggled, high-pitched and chittery—Kagero had never heard her laugh any other way. “Good day, fancy-pants! What are you drawing?”

Kagero pushed back a lock of hair drifting into her eyes, one previously held in check by the uncomfortable ponytail her father had done his best with. “The mountain over there.”

“What? That’s a little boring. Let me see,” the other girl demanded, plunking herself down in the grass. Her hand went straight for the paper and the wooden tablet it rested against, and she pulled both toward her before realizing her rudeness and leaning over instead. “Oh, but it’s really good, though! You could be a famous painter!”

“Maybe,” Kagero answered, shifting away from this sudden addition to her personal space. “I don’t know if I’m good enough to be a painter for my whole life.”

“What does your family do again?”

She wasn’t supposed to talk about it openly, but for the sake of a rare friendship, she decided to bend the rules. “My father’s family serves the royal family.”

“You’re kidding!” Orochi blurted as she looked up, her unrestrained voice spreading out across the hill. “My mother knows the royal family! They’re really close!”

“Really? You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t think it was important! Hey, maybe if we grow up like them, we’ll both get to go to the castle and be friends there!”

The thought was nice, and Kagero found it a tad difficult to shut down Orochi while she grinned so freely, but she shook her head. “I don’t know. My older brother will probably take that job instead of me.”

Orochi pouted. “Well, never mind, then. I guess you _have_ to be a painter.” Orochi looked down again to peer at the drawing, and her little face scrunched up. “You have to draw more things than just mountains, though.”

“What’s wrong with mountains?”

“They’re just a bunch of rocks. There’s no feeling!” Orochi sprang to her feet abruptly, and threw open her arms as she beheld the land before them. “My mother says when you make art, you have to put your feelings into it! That’s where the magic comes from!” She paused to look down at Kagero again. “You know what I mean, right?”

Kagero stared back up at her, at the little strands of her hair that were knocked free by the wind. “I thought it was a nice-looking mountain, so I thought that was fine.”

Orochi’s hands went back to her hips, and she looked off at the horizon with a loud _hmmm_. “Maybe that’s okay,” she finally said. “But that’s not emotional enough.” Suddenly she smacked her fist into her palm, and her face lit up as she turned back to her friend. “Why don’t you try drawing someone?”

“You mean a person?”

“Yeah! Have you done that before?”

Regretfully, she shook her head, and she felt a little bad when Orochi clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Then you have to try it!” the other girl continued, as she once again dropped to the ground and scooted over to sit by Kagero. “Come on, try it.”

Kagero was tempted to say no, to follow what her parents had taught her and not reward such unrefined requests. But the feeling of Orochi’s expectant eyes following her every move felt exciting, more than limiting. She gave a curt nod, and her friend’s smile stretched out even wider as she shifted in the grass to watch.

Watched over her shoulder, certainty in her hands, Kagero reached for another piece of paper.

* * *

“By the way, I was hoping you would accept this.”

Orochi was a bit slow to look up from her drink, but once her eyes came to rest on the paper Kagero held before her, she sobered immediately and snatched it up. “Is this new?!”

"It is,” Kagero answered her, her heart warmed both by the alcohol they’d brought to her room and by the glee in her beloved’s greedy hands. “I wanted it to be a surprise. How do you like it?”

An answer didn’t come, as Orochi was too busy poring over the painting given to her. Her eyes seemed to widen more and more as she examined it. Held as it was, Kagero only saw the back, but she remembered the image well: A woman with long, dark hair, adorned in beautiful flowing robes, kneeling on the ground. Above and around her, a crowd of hands stretched toward her reverently, as if seeking to touch her or stroke her hair for even the briefest of moments. None reached her, but her gentle smile seemed to suggest that she was happy for their presence all the same.

Kagero only watched as Orochi took in every part of the imagery, and after close to a minute, the diviner shook her head faintly. “It’s wonderful,” she said, her voice tripping up on the second word, and she swallowed loudly before she continued. “You captured her beautifully.”

“I’m glad,” the ninja answered, and she shifted closer to Orochi’s side so she could look upon the painting too. Orochi leaned against her, warmth radiating off her shoulder, and Kagero leaned against her in turn.

Orochi tilted the paper toward Kagero, letting the candlelight illuminate the page, and pointed toward one hand in particular, the fingers darkened with a lighter stroke of ink. “Would that be…?”

“I meant it to be Rinkah,” Kagero answered, and Orochi looked up at her with a faint bit of surprise. “She isn’t necessarily from our kingdom, but she knew Mikoto, for a little bit. Since she fought alongside us when we were attacked, I figured…”

Orochi murmured her agreement. “That’s true. She’s one of ours, in a way.” A brief chuckle interrupted her. “Though I bet she would be embarrassed to hear us say so.”

“Most likely,” Kagero agreed. Her finger drifted to another hand, time-worn and faintly scarred. “That one…”

“Oh, I know Reina’s hand when I see it,” the diviner interrupted, laying her hand on Kagero’s shoulder. She went quiet after saying so, taking in the sight of each person she could identify—beginning with herself and ending with her dear companion. Gently, she ran her fingertips along the page, as if touching it allowed her to feel the warmth of each life represented therein. At last she turned her head to look back at Kagero. “I love it.”

“That’s good. You should keep it, then.”

“I will.” Orochi let the words hang, suddenly breaking eye contact to gulp down more of her drink. “Shame though,” she hissed as the alcohol lit up her throat, “you could make quite a splash if you were to publish this yourself.”

Kagero gave a quick hum as she reached for her own drink. “It was meant for you. But perhaps you’re right.”

“Of _course_ I’m right,” Orochi rebuked, leaning toward Kagero until their noses bumped together. The smell of her breath pushed the scent of the candle wax out of mind. “When hasn’t my artistic advice worked out well for you?”

“Never,” Kagero admitted, lowering her cup. “Not yet, at least.”

A telltale scoff escaped from Orochi’s lips. “Excuse me? Not yet? Try never at all, my dear.”

“Of course, of course,” Kagero answered. “Forgive me.”

They watched each other for a moment, before Orochi closed her eyes. Her soft fingers grazed Kagero’s cheek, and without a second thought, the ninja found herself reaching out, laying her hand on Orochi’s shoulder as they came together in a kiss. Time slowed down, it seemed, but only for the two of them.

In the privacy of this world occupied by only the two of them, Kagero allowed herself to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> My first completed thing on like two or three years... and happily, it's my favorite Fire Emblem pairing! Yay!
> 
> This fic is based heavily on certain interpretations of Kagero's character that I've held for a long time-- the nature of her paintings, her relationship with Mikoto as a retainer and with Reina as a coworker, how she maintains her stoicism, and so forth. Maybe it's safer to call them extrapolations, since the original game left her so little depth, but you know. Since I've gotten used to those headcanons and just treat them as part of her character now, I'm curious how people will feel about them... and also whether it'll make sense to begin with. 
> 
> The central idea given in the fic summary is also one I've been sitting on for a similar number of years, but didn't feel a huge push to write out until now. I wrote it entirely based off that and honestly forgot that there were prompts for the event, so it's by pure luck that it lines up with two of them so neatly. Fate conspires to help me, I suppose.
> 
> Big thanks to engineDriver for setting up this event day, who not only helped me shake off all this rust on my writing muscles, but also for encouraging me when I hit roadblocks along the way.


End file.
